Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Gray,” she sighs. “The girls are sick. Started vomiting about an hour ago.”
Shit. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes. “Fever?”
“No fever. I think it’s just one of those twenty-four-hour things. Nancy down at the market was telling me yesterday that her grandkids just got over it. It’s been going around.”
“We just got back from a run. I have to file a report, and then I’ll be there.”
“You don’t have to. Your father and I have this under control. I just know how you are and that you would want to know. Stay at the station. They’re fine.”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her, ending the call. I’ll have to apologize for my shitty attitude when I get there. I never talk to my mom that way, and I never end a call hatefully. I never finish a call in haste, either, because I don’t know if that’s the last time I’ll talk to them. Fuck. When I hit Call on her number, she answers on the first ring. “I’m sorry.”
She sighs. “Grayson, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I was short with you, and you didn’t deserve that. Today has been… difficult.”
“You don’t have to explain. The girls are fine. You do what you have to do, and we’ll be here when you’re done.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I know, son. I love you too. I’ll see you soon.” This time she ends the call.
Dropping my phone to my desk, I force myself to file the report while the incident is fresh in my mind. Forty-five minutes later, I’m a mess, but I don’t let it show. All I can think about is today’s accident, and the man and woman who lost their lives, and my late wife and her sister. The two incidents are twisting together, weaving, and folding, and it has my nerves on edge.
“Hey,” I tell Canaan. “I’m heading out. The girls are sick. If you need me, you know where to find me. Shifts are covered, so if there’s a call, you shouldn’t miss me,” I tell him.
“You good?” he asks.
“Fine. Just need to get to my girls.”
He nods. “I’ll keep you updated here if anything happens.”
“Thanks, man.” I slap a hand on his shoulder and head for my truck. Once I’m on the road, I slowly drive past One More Chapter, hoping to get a glimpse of Laken, but it’s no use. Instead, I grab my phone so I can call her.
“Hey, handsome.”
I swallow hard, the emotions of the day getting the best of me. “Hey, baby.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just a bad accident we assisted with, and it was fatal.”
“Gray,” she murmurs. I can hear the pain in her voice, the pain for me. It makes me feel raw, spread open emotionally.
“The girls are sick,” I continue. “Mom said they’re vomiting. She thinks it’s a twenty-four-hour thing.”
“What can I do? I’ll call Mom and have her watch the store, and I’ll come to help you with them.”
“No. Don’t do that. She says they’re fine, and we don’t need you getting sick.”
“I don’t care about me. I care about helping you and the girls.”
The breath stalls in my lungs as her words sink in. She loves us. I already knew that, but today, her offer feels… different. I want to hold her close, but the guilt… the guilt eats at me. I never thought I’d love another woman other than Holly. Now, here I am, giving my heart to someone else and letting my daughters get attached to her as well. They love her too. It’s all too much today.
“We’re fine. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
“Give the girls a hug and a kiss from me?”
“You know it. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Grayson, I love you.”
I swallow hard as the memories threaten to swallow me whole. “I love you too.” Ending the call, I toss my phone in the cupholder and focus on the road. I try not to let the events of my past and the events of today distract me from driving. When I pull into my parents’ driveway, I sigh with relief.
I need to see my babies.
I’m out of the truck and racing inside. I find my parents and the girls in the living room. All four of them are on the couch, the girls sitting between them, curled up with blankets.
“Daddy, we’s got sick,” Harlow tells me.
“Yeah, it was nasty.” Hayden wrinkles her nose.
I drop to my knees in front of them, and they scramble to hug me, both at the same time. Their embrace does wonders to calm the storm raging inside me. “It looks like Nana and Pap have taken good care of you,” I tell them, pulling out of the hug.
“They wove us,” Harlow says.
It’s a simple statement yet profound coming from a four-year-old. “They do love you very much. You know who else loves you?”